If I Lay Here
by sansone
Summary: One shot. Set post-Reveille. Gibbs decides to pay Kate a visit after the day's events. S01 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters (sadly, they belong to some other people), nor do I own the song "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol.

**AN:** I've had this idea for a really long time & I needed a break from my chapter story. This fic relates to the song "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. Hope you like it :))

* * *

Water trickles down her neck, droplets come to a halt, but Kate is still shivering. The ice she's been using for her swollen lip is melting, along with her conviction. Both Ducky and Abby had offered to take her home and Tony had suggested they saw a movie tonight – the one with Matt Damon and that other guy, in which they go on a mission in Paris and –

She'd turned them all down, insisting she was fine.

Then she'd come home to an empty apartment, Thai takeout and the scorching kiss of ice. Yeah, she is making out with ice – it's so cold, it's hot – and she's doing _alright._ Ari got away, but hey, _it doesn't matter if he is one of the good guys. _Kate might be rolling her eyes even though no one can see her. So what if he took her, a federal agent hostage. At least she broke the spell and fired her gun more than once. On her own, no back-up. With the helmet over his head, there was no way to see his eyes, no way to be pierced by 'kindness'.

The ice cube slips between her fingers, falling to the floor.

* * *

He shot the bastard in the shoulder, just like Ari shot Gerald (and himself) a while back, and that's poetic justice right here. Gibbs did the right thing; he can feel it in his gut. No one messes with his people. No one takes one of his own hostage without paying for it. The FBI _sure as hell_ wasn't, _isn't _going to punish Ari, or take down his immunity. They say he is one of the good guys. _But are you?_

_And the good guys ain't wearing red, white, or blue._

The sanding block is an extension of Gibbs' arm. The motions, regular, determinate, are set to a soothing rhythm, but he is still _mad_. It's as if shooting Ari multiplied his anger tenfold. Maybe psychologists are right. If you let your anger out, it gets worse; you get angrier. Gibbs doesn't know how that's even possible. _God._

* * *

She would never admit it, but sometimes Kate wishes that her takeout order is different. That instead of one pad Thai, she'd take two (so what if the portion sizes are huge, it's the sentiment that counts), or another dish altogether and they could mix and match, _share_. That when she stays up after midnight because she can't sleep, there'd be someone to watch crappy reruns with. That _a date _would turn into something more. She sometimes just needs the comfort of another person after a horrible day at work, a little domesticity. _Alright, there, _she said it_._

She wraps her arms more tightly around her middle, turning her attention to the TV.

* * *

It's the calm after a storm: the empty NIS coffee mug rests on a polished, corner table – was it coffee, or Bourbon? What difference does it make, anyway? Gibbs is sitting on the hardwood floor, back against the boat's frame, sanding block by his side. His chest expands in even intervals as he takes slow, deep breaths._Anger, interrupted._ It might seem that he is drifting off to sleep. He's not.

* * *

She stirs awake after having fallen asleep on the couch. A black and white movie is playing now and she smiles, before turning the TV off and walking to her bedroom to finally get proper sleep.

Time passes and in the silence of the room, it's the hiss of sheets, of Kate turning yet again to lie on her other side, that finally have her hit the switch on her night lamp. It's eerie; the way light brushes certain spots and leaves others in shadow. Kate props herself up on her elbows, eyes scanning the room for inconsistencies, _anything_ that would explain why she can't fall asleep here.

She turns the light off. No matter how tired she is – and who wouldn't be after such a day – she is still restless, reliving what's already happened. She grips the edges of her comforter until her knuckles turn white. That's it for comfort.

She might as well have spent the night on the couch.

* * *

_Get over it!_

The thing about advice is it's useless. If you're the advisee, you rarely listen to what you're told, _'cause you know better. _If you're the advisor, you never listen to your own advice.

_Get over it! _

The floor is cold, he should be sleeping and yet, the only thing on his mind is, _should have known something was wrong. _He closes his eyes shut, a basic attempt to turn his thoughts off, but it doesn't work this way. If anything, it gets worse.

_Should have known something was off. What if we hadn't figured it out? What if she hadn't called at all? What if we hadn't figured it out on time?_

His breath catches in his throat at the last one. He would never admit it, but sometimes Kate leaves him on edge, worried sick. _Damn, _does she ever call for back-up? And why does he feel the need to go check on her when she's certainly asleep, and well, _fine. _She's a federal agent, his federal agent, or at least, she's on _his team. _ She can take care of herself. _But it's not about that, now is it._

* * *

The moment she hears the knock, her heartbeat goes crazy, a metronome on steroids. She puts the book down, pulls her Sig out of the upper drawer. In no time she is standing at the door, considering her options. _Perhaps they'd go away._

Another knock.

She looks through the peephole and lets out a sigh of relief. Just Gibbs. _My boyfriend. _It was the perfect cover, okay. She opens the door.

"Kate, hi," he says, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Can I come in?"

She steps to the side, letting him in. It's only then that she realizes she is still wearing shorts and a flimsy tank top. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, self-conscious.

"What are you doing here, Gibbs?" she asks, too tired to pretend it's okay that he is in her apartment at this hour.

Instead of answering, he walks into the living room and Kate, _Kate _has to follow him.

"Gibbs?"

"He hit you?" he asks, and she can feel his eyes on her mouth.

She runs her tongue over her lower lip, and _damn, _it still hurts. "It wasn't Ari, Gibbs. It was one of the others - What are you doing here?" Her question is a breath, a plea, because she is getting impatient and Gibbs doesn't seem to be bothered. He is sitting on the couch now, looking at her with a strange expression in his eyes.

"I didn't get the chance to see you. Just wanted to make sure –"

"Make sure what, Gibbs? That I got home okay?" She sits down next to him, happy to find her cardigan draped over the arm rest and putting it on. She tries not to think about the way the edge of her tank top lifts up in the process, exposing a sliver of skin.

"Are you okay, Kate?"

"Fine. You could have called," she whispers. She doesn't want to be abrupt, but it comes out this way. She just wants to know the real reason why her boss is here. Because everything that comes to mind at this point belongs to one of her dreams. "Wait, Gibbs – is it Ari? Did something else happen?"

"Ari's a bastard, Kate. But everything's alright now – I just, I came to see you. I care, Kate."

His touch is unexpected as he takes hold of one of her hands and she can feel his thumb press against the center of her palm.

She looks at their hands, thinking, _so much for professionalism_, but then again, it's not about that anymore. They've been through so much; they're more than a team at work. They're a team, always.

"Gibbs –" She wants to say _thank you, me too, _or you know, anything. Instead, she inches closer and lays her head on his shoulder. Because it's past midnight, she can't sleep and he's here.

"It's alright, Kate," he murmurs, wrapping one arm around her waist.

It's been a while since she's been this close to him. Last time, it was on Air Force One. She can feel his warmth, her fingertips can feel his heartbeat, as they recklessly abandon her and come to rest on his chest. She is pretty sure she is, _they are_ crossing a line that has been drawn. But it's a line in the sand. Come high tide, and it's gone.

"Stay, Gibbs?"

* * *

She leads him to the bedroom, still holding his hand.

"Are you sure?" she asks, but in the dim light of the hallway she can see his nod.

They lie on opposite sides of the bed at first. Before she turns to her side and he comes closer, his hand weightless on her shoulder.

"Kate?"

His voice is tired and she knows he hasn't gotten any sleep before he came here either.

"Mmm?" She lifts her hand, fingers running over the top of his hand. Their contact is layered: her shoulder, his hand, her hand…

The next time he speaks, she feels the words brush against her ear. "You got me worried today."

It's a confession, as much as it is a plea, both of which are incompatible with him being _Gibbs_. But one thing Kate knows, he's honest.

"It's alright, Gibbs. I'm fine," she whispers, a reiteration of what's already been said, yet it seems to content him. She hadn't realized how close he was – not until she shifts slightly and her back presses against his chest. She doesn't return to her former place.

He lets his hand slide over her arm, lets his fingers rub circles onto the inside of her wrist. Lets his hand rest on her stomach; allows himself to smile when she sucks in a deep breath, but relaxes soon after.

This doesn't change anything. They're colleagues, friends and there is no _just_, because that's enough, in and of itself. No need to complicate things. No need to –

_A gasp. _Because, _because _he brushes a strand of hair and presses his lips to the side of her neck.

"Good night, Kate."

"Night, Gibbs."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Just kidding, there's a second chapter to this story. It's based on "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5. Thanks for the reviews! They got me thinking and there you go ~ Excuse the fluff.

* * *

She is not fully awake, but even in that hazy, too-early-to-function-go-back-to-sleep-dammit state, she can feel the shivers run through her body. Stubborn as Kate is, she pulls her knees up to her chest, clenching her eyes shut in denial. _There, conserving heat._

But it doesn't seem to be working. Her hands are cold, her feet are cold and her comforter is MIA. _Ugh._ With her eyes closed, she feels the space around her for the lost cover, yet comes up empty-handed, quite literally. _No way. _

Kate rolls over onto her other side and opens her eyes. _Well, _there it is – she must have kicked it off in her sleep to the other end of the bed. She scoots closer and is just about to tug at the corner, when – _it's moving!_

Okay, she may have screamed. A little. The breathing bundle scared her, but it's _on _now, her mind is _on. _In the span of a couple of seconds, everything comes into place: _Ari. Home. Gibbs. Good night, Kate. _She remembers, alright.

"Gibbs," she whispers, cautious. Comforter-thief and all, she doesn't want to freak him out because, because he looks peaceful and she is not used to seeing him like that. His features are murky in the dark, and she has to restrain herself from mapping out a tangible image, from running a fingertip over the crease bridging his eyebrows, from tracing his lips. It's all so tempting and Kate is curious. She shakes it out.

"Gibbs," she whispers, gripping the edge of the cover. He lets out a snore, unabashed.

_Wow, _she knew he was a heavy sleeper – he slept on that awful airplane ride, after all – but she hoped he would wake up. She has nothing left to do, but pull.

It's a tug of war – of her pulling the cover and of him mumbling something in his sleep and tightening his hold around it. _Damn it, Gibbs, release! _She is prone to forgetting what he did last night, or rather what he was – _sweet, Gibbs was sweet _– in light of this recent development.

One last time she pulls the fabric to herself and – _finally! _– a small bit of the cover escapes Gibbs' hold. She immediately feels warmer, and it doesn't matter whether it's the patch of comforter that does it or the heat, radiating from him. It really doesn't matter, _okay_.

He shifts a little and she closes her fists around her end of the cover, _just in case. _It's not necessary. He grumbles a somewhat incoherent, _"McGee, get me another one –" _and then inches closer. Close enough to drape his arm over her waist and pull her to himself. Close enough for Kate to feel his heartbeat; hear that content hum he lets out once he has secured her in his arms.

* * *

When he wakes up, he can hear the _tap tap tapping _of water against glass, of rain, or at least that's what he thinks it is. He takes a deep breath and his eyes shoot wide open, because _raspberry and something sweet – vanilla? _

And that's Kate he is holding. His agent. There's a moment when he just closes his eyes again – he still feels tired – and lets instinct take over, when he tightens the hold around her and kisses her shoulder. It doesn't last long. He opens his eyes and he is Gibbs again, fiercely loyal, more caring than anyone gives him credit for, and in big, big trouble.

He has to let go, but there is something that is holding him back. One time, he tries to disentangle himself and she stirs in her sleep. He is sure she is awake; then she turns around and nuzzles his neck, while her hand comes to rest on his chest. By the sound of her breathing, she is sleeping deeply and he _just_, he doesn't want to wake her up.

He glances at the clock and it's barely seven in the morning. Grey light is slipping through the blinds and the raindrops reach a crescendo. _It's a downpour. _He can stay a bit longer, until the rain subsides a little. But actually, he should go soon, because –

Gibbs is out of control: when Kate clutches the front of his shirt, a frown creasing her brow, he drops a kiss on her forehead, the lightest contact possible. He traces the length of her arm with his fingertips, committing the outlines to memory, _just in case._ What was it, _only fools rush in? _Damn, he has to run fast for the door then. Giving her shoulder a little squeeze, he quietly slips away, something he should have done hours ago –

* * *

She hears him when he slips away. A part of her wants to call out to him, get him back in bed with her –_in a quite innocent way – _because it's Sunday and they don't have to go to work, or do anything. And because it's comforting, having someone to lie down next to, someone to cuddle with. _Who would have thought Gibbs would be that cuddly? _It's a trick in and of itself – the grumpy demeanor diverts attention from his little acts of kindness. A smile rises to her lips as she remembers the way he pulled her closer, possessively in a way. _But he was sleeping, Kate. _She rolls onto her back, and grabs a pillow, burying her face in cotton.

The key in the lock does it. She doesn't overthink it; she just hopes she catches him at the door.

"Gibbs?"

He looks surprised to see her, but also _relieved? _She doesn't know how to interpret the half-smile. "Go back to sleep, Kate," he says finally, turning back to leave.

"Wait – Gibbs."

She's got his attention, but it's still difficult to say it, not because she doesn't mean it, but because she means it, _a lot. _"Thank you," she murmurs, and doesn't wait to hear his response, in case there's any. She just wraps her arms around him, and bites her lip not to smile, when he whispers in her ear.

"I got your back, Agent Todd."


End file.
